Orthokostá (15 page)

I took a few more steps. I could make out some shadows around the fire. I saw Yiánnis Xinós. He was holding a shallow copper mug. Come here, Cousin, he says to me. I sent for you. So you could have some tea. Tea, I say to him. My knees buckled under me. He slept early. And he had gotten up early to bake the bread. He was getting ready. After a while Kolokotrónis came back. He was standing in the doorway. He might even have been listening in. Let's go, Dránias. Because the others must be scared out of their wits. And he took me back to the cell. As soon as I stepped inside they all breathed a sigh of relief. And I did too. Only then. Horrifying. That game of theirs, Xinós and Kolokotrónis. Xinós was a prisoner, but he knew everyone. He's dead now. As for Kolokotrónis, our guard, I don't know if he's still alive. I never saw him again after that. There were ten other guards. Or fifteen. Three of them stood out somehow. But which of them was the chief and which wasn't, you couldn't tell. They would just strut around. They had good voices too. They said that one of them had graduated the seminary in Corinth. That he was on his way to a career as a clergyman. And he had taught the others. They would chant often. They knew the liturgy. They would chant in jest, of course. But I think there was nostalgia in their voices too. A feeling of loss. But they had no respect for books. They would tear them up and use the paper for cigarettes. To roll cigarettes. Someone had gone to Ayios Andréas and brought back a bag of fine-cut tobacco. Very good tobacco. And a goatskin full of wine. It was just a day or two before we left, no more. Before the order came for us to leave. We still didn't know the Germans were coming. And they let us have tobacco, they let us have wine. Among the prisoners there was an employee of the Prefecture. I don't know what part he played in everything. But he was a communications specialist. He had installed a telephone in a watchtower. To the north, on the upper slopes of the monastery grounds. And later on, farther down, for the villages. And for Astros. Always with an escort. He worked every day. Every day he went somewhere, to connect the lines. He was the one who alerted us. He got the telephone and he said, The Germans are coming. We moved out around the end of January. The twenty-eighth, twenty-ninth, or thirtieth
of January. The thirtieth. The chiefs tell us, Time to move. Get ready, take whatever clothes you have, whatever you can take and let's go. They didn't tell us where. But we could tell from what we were doing that we were changing location. That something was up, in other words. The next day we learned that the Germans were really coming. We had left the monastery. There was a road there that we had come on. But we didn't take it. We walked in a different direction. And just at the bend of a large gully we ran into the other detention camp. The one to the north. Now I'm certain that they weren't from the Karyés Monastery, as they said, but from the Elónas Monastery. The rebels always used monasteries as concentration camps. And that one was bigger than ours. Because monasteries suited their purpose. Both for lodgings and for keeping us under guard. It was a larger detention camp, and it had a mixed population. Adults in their prime, of course. But also old people and very young children. They were from the Sparta area. From the prefecture of Laconía. And there were also laggards. A certain Kostákis. Kostákis Mémos, the village alderman of Mýloi. He'd lag behind because of the beatings during the Torture. He couldn't walk at all so they'd put him up on a mule. And so we arrived at Háradros. In the area around Háradros. Places I'd heard about. In this same area they had executed the man who was county prefect at that time. We found that out from overhearing the careless chatter of the rebels escorting us. I think they leaked certain information on purpose. How they killed him, how they pulled out his nails with a pair of pliers. To make him reveal where he'd hidden the gold sovereigns. They had arrested him and accused him of selling food belonging to the Prefecture. He had sold it and didn't give it to the people when the Occupation forces were moving in. I'm in no position to know what happened. But those were the charges, and that's why they executed him. Then we made our way up the neck of the mountain. We bypassed the town of Háradros. By now it was clear that we were heading toward Galtená and Stólos. Our own villages. The winter lodgings of the villagers from Kastrí. We arrived in Galtená at night and ended up at Diamantákos's olive press. Both detention camps. A hundred and sixty-six people, including children and
the elderly. In the morning they took us outside. The weather was beautiful. It was the day of the Presentation at the Temple. The second of February. We could see the festivities across the way in the Community of Platánas, and there we were sprawled out, squashing lice. Out in the sun in the delightful warmth of February. That's when we received notice that the Germans were coming. Then Kléarhos arrived. He came from Astros. He was in charge of that area, and he came to take over as chief of the two detention camps, and to take us to Zíreia. Then word got out that the escape routes were closed and that there was an order for our execution. For both detention camps. On the same day Yiánnis Velissáris also passed by with a small group of men. That reinforced the rumors about execution. Yiánnis, the Farmakídis boy said to him. Stávros Farmakídis. The nephew of Yiórghis Farmakídis, the short one. Yiánnis was like a brother. We had grown up together. If there was a loaf of bread to be had, our families would share it. Yiánnis wasn't a Communist. But he felt he had failed as a lawyer and maybe his disappointment led him to that. Twenty-six years old, just like me. At any rate he came to Galtená. Yiánnis was unarmed, as usual. He hated guns. Even during the Albanian campaign he avoided them. He would tell us stories about the army, about his captain. His reservist captain, also a lawyer. Kalathás. Lots of stories. Yiánnis, Stávros Farmakídis says to him. Let's get Dránias out. They were just passing through. And Yiánnis says, After all he's done, let the son of a bitch die. He called me a son of a bitch, me. They shot him later by order of a military court. He refused to renounce his former allegiance. He was stubborn. He wouldn't renounce his allegiance like his superiors did. Níkos Delivoriás and the others. Sworn Communists. They signed a paper. It was just another foolish government practice. But it gave them the right to ask for a pardon. Because they had renounced their beliefs. And said they were no longer Communists. And Yiánnis, who was never a Communist, refused to sign. Stávros was killed differently. A few months later. Also unjustly. In July of that year. During the big blockade of the village. By some hotheads or other. Not Germans. Hotheads from Kastrí. Well, in any case. We were gathered in Galtená. In Galtená. The execution order
had been given. The Germans were approaching. And the villagers from Kastrí started to leave. To head away from there, because they were afraid of the Germans. All the villagers. Lámbros Chrónis, Kourvetáris, Athanasíou. Ismíni Athanasíou. She gave me a bag of raisins. And as soon as he saw me Lámbros started crying. They had heard the news. They knew about the execution. Some other men came through then. Chrístos Kokkiniás, and Thanásis Kosmás. They took them to the detention camp later on. Because the detention camp was reopened. Dínos Pantazís. Lots of men. All the men. They were leaving the village, getting away from the Germans. They came down there. They'd give me cigarettes, they'd give me bread. I didn't smoke. And I had decided to escape. We were approaching Eleohóri, I knew my way around there. My mind was on that. How to get away. In the end the execution never took place. Kléarhos refused to do it. He asked for a written order. They had run telephone lines and everything was arranged by telephone. Kléarhos asked for the order in writing. So the following day we walked across, from Galtená to Ayiórghis. And that's where we spent the night. In Ayiórghis, on Farazís's threshing floors. I had started out from there, and ended up there. In the evening Kóstas Sámbos came by, the German. He had the mill in Koubíla. That was his nickname, the German. Nothing to do with what happened back then. He was simply the German. And he brought us a bucketful of wine. His brother-in-law was with us, Pétros Tsélios. He called us over: Come and drink some water. A bucketful of wine. We pounced on that bucket, we emptied it. Night fell, the rebels disappeared. The cold set in, and they took shelter in various houses. They were sure of us. They had left guards. We would be sleeping out in the fields. With a blanket, or half of one. Someone said the old people and the children should move to the center of one of the threshing floors. Then the women. And then the men, back to back. To make a wall against the wind. Just below the threshing floors was Kóstas Papakonstantínos's house. It had a cement staircase outside. I saw a fire through the window. There was a fire burning. I went up the stairs to go inside. I knew Kóstas. I opened the door. Then I hear Kléarhos's voice. What's he doing here, get rid of him. I turned to leave.
Kléarhos and I were friends. We had no quarrel, no differences. Nothing between us. I knew that, and so did Kléarhos. I turned to leave. He jumped to his feet then, laughing. He came and took me by the arm. Sit down and warm up, man. And the next day, crack of dawn, we started our uphill trek, over the cobblestones of Ayiórghis. Our camp was in front. The road was hard, and the rebels pushed us on. They had information that the Germans were coming down from the village of Korýtes. In two columns. They had passed Kastrí and they were heading down toward Ayiasofiá. We had to change direction. To head for Mávri Trýpa. A canyon with smooth red rocks full of caves. Caves like female parts. At any rate, despite the red rocks the place is called Mávri Trýpa.
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On the border of Ayiasofiá and Eleohóri. Four kilometers from Ayiánnis. There was a goat trail the first half of the way. After that it disappeared. Alíki Maloúhou was walking in front of me. The poor girl was inexperienced. She had unattractive legs, her shins were abnormally thick. I tried to help her climb over some rocks. Then we heard a shot. Then another one. They told us they had executed Kostákis. Kostákis Mémos, the village alderman of Mýloi. Because he was a laggard. He was up on a mule and they executed him. They shot him twice. He didn't fall down with the first shot, he fell with the second. Afterward we came to a sheep pen. There someone said, Go down to the ravine, go down to the ravine. Then the Germans saw us. They were heading our way, and they started firing. But they fired in the air. We threw ourselves into the ravine. The Germans were shouting something, we didn't understand. We had a man with us named Grigóris Kostoúros. A Reserve officer from World War I. He ran the Boúrtzi fortress in Náfplion until 1940. He used it as a hotel for tourists. And he knew German. Grigóris, Yiánnis Vasílimis says to him. Vasílimis was also from Dolianá. Shout that we're prisoners. Kostoúros shouted. And he took off a shirt, a white shirt. The Germans say, Stand up. And that all happened right there. In the area around Mávri Trýpa. It was getting dark out. Night was falling in that barren sheep pen. We all stood up. Next to me was Yiánnis Koïtsános. He says to me, We can leave them and go to the Germans. No, I tell him. Pétros Tsélios was still there, and another man, and an old
woman. I didn't know her, I never saw her again. I tell them, Come with me. I know these parts. We can make it safely to the village. To Eleohóri. But only Koïtsános came over to me. The others had moved out of the ravine. With their hands in the air. They had surrendered to the Germans. We lay low for a while, waiting for them to move farther away. The rebels who were escorting us had also run away. So we walked along the riverbed. Then we came to the Másklina olive groves. There the Germans began shooting up flares. We hit the ground until they stopped. At around midnight we arrived at Liátsis's storage sheds. Behind Ayía Paraskeví. I knew the Liátsis family. They gave us olives and bread. We ate. And they tell us, Now you'd better go because the rebels will be coming round again. They pass through here. We left. I say, Let's go to our vineyard. We went to the top of Mount Kafkalás. It was almost dawn. There were thickets, and the vineyard. My thickets, my vineyard. The vineyard would conceal us. It would save us. It was across from the village. Then it turned very cold. The morning frost. We were freezing. Come daybreak, we saw the activity down below. The prisoners from both detention camps had gathered at the station. Everyone had gathered at the station. The Germans and the prisoners. At about seven a train arrived from Trípolis and took them away. It was very light out now. I turned to Yiánnis Koïtsános then. What do we do now? I say to him. The Germans were gone. He was curled up from the cold, frozen. Now we can go to our villages, he says. And that's what we did. He left for Parthéni. I stayed in Eleohóri. My sister Iphigenia was there, I couldn't do otherwise. I thought the Communists would look favorably on what we did. Because we didn't go with the Germans. The next day they came and put me in charge of the press and of indoctrination. Me. I didn't want to be connected to them. I tell them, I can't. They tell me, Yes you can. And they sent me to Ahladókampos. Where they had never managed to have any influence. The villagers from Ahladókampos were nationalists through and through. Wanted nothing to do with the Communists. So were the villagers from Karátoula. But they never joined the Security Battalions either. There was Yiórghis Baláskas. An artillery officer. A lieutenant. He kept them all close to him. That's
why they killed them. No battle, no nothing. They arrested them and they killed them. Just after the Liberation. Right in front of their houses. One by one. About seventy men. I had to go down there then. I couldn't do otherwise. I spoke to some people. They knew me, my hair was cut very close. They knew why it was like that. They knew who I was, what I believed. I tell them, We're like an egg between two rocks. We set up a phony organization. I went back to Eleohóri. Until March when Papadóngonas came down. My brother Kóstas came down. Liberation was coming any day now. Then the whole prefecture, there were no other options, everyone in Eleohóri and in Kastrí, we all joined the Battalions. Approximately the end of April or possibly May. At any rate, except for Kostákis Mémos, as far as I know all the other prisoners from Orthokostá survived. From the detention camp at that time, I mean.